


The Waiting Game

by enchantedteapot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Best Friends, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Humor, Not Epilogue Compliant, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-07-15 04:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16055480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enchantedteapot/pseuds/enchantedteapot
Summary: When Victoire finds herself with something of a problem in the bedroom, she takes matters into her own hands… Or rather, puts them in Teddy’s.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly non-epilogue compliant as I am ignoring the fact that Teddy and Victoire are clearly already an item in the DH epilogue... *so sue me*.  
> Back to writing after a number of years hiatus and having some fun with some fluffy humour. Enjoy!

It was almost half past five when she finally spotted him, pushing his way through the crowds that jostled outside the little coffee shop on the corner of a side-street off Diagon Alley. Setting down her copy of that morning’s _Quibbler_ , she grinned as he stumbled over the threshold, shaking the wet and unruly turquoise hair from his eyes and heading straight over to their usual table, eyes lighting up as his gaze settled on her.

“Fancy meeting you here, Weasley,” came the familiar opening line and she rolled her eyes, nursing her own coffee with one hand as she slid his now cold americano across the table. He flopped into a seat and gave her outstretched hand a squeeze. “Good day?”

Victoire shrugged and flashed him a wide smile, “Better now that you’re here,” before leaning over and lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Lupin, but I think you might have been followed.”

Teddy grinned, glancing over his shoulder to where the gaggle of witches were jostling to peer through the grimy glass windows, each trying to squint towards the shadowy booth the two were currently occupying.

“Curse of the job, I’m afraid. Although I guess that means they’re on to us, might be time to find a new favourite spot.”

She gasped in mock offence, “How can you say that? This is our tradition, Friday afternoons at Bathilda’s Bakery! I’m not giving this up for a handful of besotted teenagers!”

“Oh I don’t know,” Teddy scanned the group thoughtfully, “that one with the scarf’s got to be almost twenty.”

“And still too young for you,” Victoire swatted at him with her newspaper. “Speaking of which...” she tossed the crumpled pages down in front of him. “You even made the _Quibbler_ this time.”

“Really?” He frowned, snatching the paper up and scanning the headlines. “They don’t usually print the gossipy stuff.”

Victoire chuckled, sipping at her frothy coffee and tucking a strand of long blonde hair behind her ear. “No, well, the article actually discusses whether or not your, er... _sudden success_ with women, has anything to do with the recent sighting of the African Jarvey.”

“An African-, what in Merlin’s name is a Jarvey?”

Victoire shook her head, an amused grin creeping around the corners of her mouth “No idea. Although apparently if it bites you, you get some sort of super charged pheromones,” she quirked one elegant eyebrow. “Hence the connection.”

Teddy snorted his disapproval, “They just can’t give a man credit where credit’s due, can they? It couldn’t possibly be my devilish good looks or charming manner-,”

“Or infallible sense of modesty,”

“-that scores me a night of rampant sex,” he ignored her, “No, there’s got to be a bloody Amazonian Jarvey on the loose, or some other such gobshite.”

“African,” Victoire corrected, taking another sip. “And I don’t suppose it hurts being the newly signed Beater for the Tutshill Tornados either. Not that I doubt your woo-ing prowess in the slightest,” she added quickly at Teddy’ glower.

“Yes, well, I suppose being an internationally recognised Quidditch star doesn’t _hinder_ my chances,” he conceded, reluctantly. “Anyway, how was the big romantic weekend away? Finnigan took you right into the Leprechaun’s den, did he?”

“How did you hear about that?” Victoire scowled suddenly, her cheeks colouring just enough for Teddy to make out the faint line of freckles across her nose.

Teddy laughed then, his loud and warm trademark chuckle that usually made Victoire smile without meaning to. “Vic, you’ve got two siblings and nine cousins and not a single one of them knows how to keep their mouth shut. How do you think I heard?”

She let out something of a ‘hrmph’ and wrinkled her nose in annoyance. “Honestly, being a part of this family is like being under twenty-four-hour Auror protection. No one ever manages to go anywhere or do anything without at least seventeen other people knowing all about it.”

Teddy smiled, softly. He was no stranger to Victoire’s gripes about her rather extended family. “Was it meant to be a secret? Besides, I think they were just excited for you, Vic. Finally meeting Patrick’s family and all, it’s a big deal,” his smile involuntarily waivered for the briefest of seconds before he forced out a laugh. “’Course now Lily’s convinced you’ll be married this time next year.”

Victoire, still scowling into the dregs of her coffee, rolled her eyes at the prospect. “Excellent, now I’ve got the romantic predictions of a fifteen-year-old girl to contend with.”

“Oh, come on,” he gave her knee a soft bump under the table. “It can’t have been that bad can it? A whole weekend away with your very own dashing Irishman? Not to mention that you two have been on and then off again more times than your Gran’s wireless. Surely this is a good sign, surely this is…,” he grappled for the right word, “ _progress_?”

He watched across the booth as Vic, her blush starting to creep down her neck, glanced away across the crowded café. He recognised that look – it was the same one she’d had as a tiny first-year when she’d admitted to him that she was embarrassed to be the first ever Weasley not sorted into Gryffindor.  The same look he’d seen when she’d told him about her rejection letter from the St Mungo’s Healer programme.

And even though he’d known that she was destined to be a textbook devouring, logic hungry Ravenclaw since she was six years old, not to mention the fact that she turned green at the sight of a bleeding papercut - he still hated that look. It made his chest hurt and his hair turn blue.  

“Is this what you needed to talk to me about?” He asked carefully. Victoire had suddenly become very interested in a chip in the rim of their sugar bowl. “Come on, Vic. I may have taken a few bludgers to the head in my time but I’m not totally dense, yet. You must have left a dozen Floo messages at my flat reminding me what time to be here.”

“And yet you still managed to be almost an hour late,” she muttered, still not quite managing to meet his eye.

He chuckled. “We’ve met here at four o’clock every Friday since you left Hogwarts. And I’m _always_ late. Why the big fuss all of a sudden?”

Victoire could feel herself squirming under her best friend’s unwavering stare. It was true, this was their historic, weekly tradition and neither of them had ever missed a date. And it was true that she needed to talk to him, badly. It was just that after working herself up over the last five days to have this very conversation, she now didn’t think she had the courage to go through with it. The whole sodding thing was just too mortifying to put into words.

“The thing is,” she started, tentatively. “The weekend was, er- well,” she cringed both out and inwardly. “The weekend was a total disaster.” 

“Oh?” Teddy couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. When he’d heard (from Roxanne, incidentally) where Vic had gone last weekend, he’d figured things were finally on track for the pair of indecisive lovebirds. Truth be told, he’d never been Patrick Finnigan’s biggest supporter. Despite being one of Teddy’s old school friends, not to mention teammate at the Tornados since the start of the new season, the notion of Victoire and Patrick being together had never quite sit right with Teddy. The man was all cheekbones and no substance, in his not-so-humble opinion, and certainly not good enough for Victoire. Then again, he supposed it was unlikely that anyone would ever be good enough for her in his estimation. But that was something he very rarely allowed himself to think about – dangerous territory and all that.  

Victoire cleared her throat and Teddy re-focused sharply. She was still having difficulty looking him in the eye and was pulling nervously at a corner of the already dog-eared menu. He reached out and enveloped her small hand in his calloused one.

“Vic, whatever it is, whatever he did to ruin it again you can tell me. I promise not to spike his Firewhiskey with itching powder like last time,” he smiled warmly – and was instantly surprised to find he had just managed to make the situation somehow even worse.

“That’s just it!” she snapped, pulling her long, elegant fingers free of his and folding her arms crossly. “ _He_ didn’t do anything. He was perfectly lovely, his family were lovely, _Ireland_ was perfectly bloody lovely!”

Teddy blinked. “Right. Er-, right, that’s good.” He scratched his head. “So…what-?”

“It was me!” her face crumpled into a sad frown. More of a pout really, but Teddy valued his life too much to address the fact that she still pouted like a five-year-old whenever she was annoyed. “ _I_ ruined it. Everything was going really well, we’d decided to try and make a proper go of it this time, be a proper couple and then… then I just _couldn’t_.”

She was suddenly staring at him, hotly – eyes wide and cheeks blazing. Teddy, for his part, was rather lost.

“Couldn’t. Couldn’t, what?”

“You know!”

He blinked, dumbly. “I really don’t think I do.”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Teddy! If anyone should understand what I’m talking about it’s you! At least according to the stupid _Quibbler_ , that is.”

Now Teddy was _really_ lost. _The Quibbler?_ What in the name of Merlin’s left bollock was she talking about? He glanced at the crumpled pages of her copy lying on the table between them – caught site of his own picture (taken at the latest Tutshill Tornado’s press conference from the looks of it), and watched as it morphed into an artist’s rendering of him being bitten by what looked like a large black and red striped cat.

The African Jarvey, as he had just learnt.

And then it hit him.

“Oh!” he almost coughed in her face. “You, you er- _couldn’t_.” He looked suddenly puzzled. “But, I mean, surely you two _have_ – you know – before?”

Victoire offered him an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

“But you’ve been dating for almost two years, I just assumed…,”  

Victoire, the poor girl, felt even the tips of her ears glowing red as Teddy grimaced awkwardly in front of her. This was absolutely not how the conversation had gone when she’d rehearsed it alone, in front of the mirror that morning. In that scenario she had been cool, composed and totally unashamed about her predicament.

It wasn’t as if she’d been relishing the thought of sharing this news with Teddy, even if he was her best friend. In fact, this sort of stuff – boys, girls, relationships, sex – just wasn’t the sort of stuff they talked about. Even as they got older, had both started dating, they just hadn’t felt the need to discuss their respective love lives with each other. When you’ve known someone your entire life, it seemed, there was always plenty of other things to occupy the conversation.  

But now, apparently, they were talking about it. And it was _painful_. But Teddy had been right earlier – Victoire had needed to talk to him about this and for a very particular reason. Judging by how well the conversation had gone so far she wasn’t entirely sure how to breach it but – Gryffindor or not – she was a Weasley, and Weasley’s were always fiercely determined in the face of danger. And right now, she knew she was entering treacherous waters.

“Patrick and I have never had sex,” she stated factually, glancing furtively around the bustling tea shop to ensure there were no Quick-Quotes-Quills or eavesdropping cousins nearby. “Teddy- _Ted_ , are you listening to me?”

“Hm?” clearing his throat, Teddy – who had been lost deep in his own concerning train of thought – ran a hand through his hair, leaving it veering oddly to the left. Victoire noticed it was currently a bright pink – just the shade to match her cheeks, in fact.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I’m listening.” Though he looked, to her, very much as though he would like nothing more than to cut both of his ears off.

She took a deep breath, only somewhat deterred. “Patrick and I have never had sex. In fact,” she found herself biting the sides of her tongue in an apparently subconscious effort to stop herself talking. “In fact, I have never had sex. With anyone. Ever.”

Victoire sat back against her chair and gave this news a moment to sink in. Teddy, who had been awkwardly avoiding eye-contact with her up until now, was staring at her intently, mouth slightly ajar. His sheer look of surprise somehow spurred her self-confidence.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, you know, Ted Lupin,” she muttered, crossly. “Just because I haven’t done it yet, doesn’t make me… _defective_ or anything.”

“God, no-,”

“I may be twenty-three but that’s hardly past it. Plus it’s not like I haven’t had opportunity, if I’d wanted to-,”

“Exactly!”

Victoire stalled, narrowing her eyes at the now flame-red-haired man sat across from her. It clashed awfully with his purple and orange Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes t-shirt. “And what’s that supposed to mean? _‘Exactly’_?”

“I- I just mean,” Teddy was opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, “I’m only surprised that you _haven’t_ because I know about a hundred people who you could have done it with, you know, if you’d have wanted to.”

He grimaced, that definitely didn’t come out right. Although it was true – ever since Victoire’s fifth year at Hogwarts, Teddy had been painfully aware of just how many potential suitors had hovered, hopefully, at her periphery. For her part, Victoire had seemed mostly oblivious to all of them. A fact that Teddy had always found surprising and oddly pleasing.

Victoire frowned. “Thanks, I think.”

“You’re welcome,” he mumbled. Merlin, it wasn’t usually this warm in this blasted café was it? “Look, Vic,” he cleared his throat, “it’s really none of my business who you have or haven’t slept with. And if you didn’t want to sleep with Finnegan then that’s completely fine, you don’t owe him anything. And you certainly don’t need to explain yourself to me-,”

“I know that!” she hissed.  “I’m not torturing both of us right now with this conversation just to give you the heads up that I haven’t shagged your mate, yet.”

Someone in the next booth along dropped a teaspoon, loudly, and they both flinched away to look at different spots on the wall.

Teddy was the one to recover his composure – or what was left of it – first. “Then why, in the name of Helga’s saggy tits,” he muttered through gritted teeth, “are we even having this conversation in the first place?”

He couldn’t think of a single logical reason that the last five minutes of his life had also needed to become the most uncomfortable five minutes of his life thus far. He’d always liked to think that he and Vic could talk about anything, share anything between them but he was quickly realising this was absolutely not the case. This stuff – the sex stuff – was clearly off-limits for a reason. And, though he was genuinely ashamed to admit it, even this hideously awkward discussion was beginning to send dangerous signals to the inside of his jeans. After all, they were talking about Victoire having (or rather _not_ having) sex, and that was a dangerously taboo topic in the mind of Teddy Lupin.

Victoire let a long, slow breath out through her nose in an effort to compose herself and tucked her straight blonde hair back behind her ears, in the way she always did when steeling herself to tackle an insurmountable problem.

“We are having this conversation, Ted Lupin, because I am about to ask for your help,” she spoke slowly. Teddy wasn’t sure if that was for his benefit or her own. “And I need you to understand _why_ I am asking for your help so that _maybe_ you won’t act incredibly _weird_ about it when I do.”

Teddy blinked. She was using the same tone with him that she frequently employed on her younger cousins Fred and James, when trying to help them grasp the stupidity of their latest cunning plot to flood the girls’ toilets or – since they’d graduated – flirt with the barmaid at the Three Broomsticks who was clearly out of both of their leagues. He felt mildly affronted by it, actually.

“Fine,” he crossed his arms, sullenly. “Go on, then.”

She took in another deep breath. “I have yet to… _do the deed_ ,” Teddy was pleased to see the instant flush of her cheeks, at least she was still finding this as uncomfortable as he was. “And I think that’s because I’ve built it up too much in my head. It seemed stupid to do it when I was teenager, with Damian, because it was bound to be terrible and high-school relationships never last. My relatives being the exception that proves the rule, of course.”

Teddy felt his lip curl involuntarily at the mention of Victoire’s first Hogwarts boyfriend – when she’d been a sixth year and he in his seventh, alongside Damian Zabini. The smarmy Slytherin had seemed a little too pleased with himself since he’d started dating Vic – as if he’d somehow got one up over Teddy, who _honestly_ couldn’t have cared in the slightest who she was dating.

“And then I got a bit older, met new people, had new relationships, but it never seemed right. I’d waited that long for it to be perfect, why not just wait a little longer?” she shrugged. “Some of them understood and others-, well, I suppose they got fed up of waiting.”

The sad little pout was threatening to reappear. Teddy instantly wanted to apparate home, make a list of all of Victoire’s past boyfriends and surprise each one on their doorstep with his well-practiced Bat Bogey-Hex.

“But I just kept telling myself that was fine, because it wasn’t the right time. I could find a flaw with each of them that meant they weren’t the right ones. And then, there was last weekend with Patrick -,”

Teddy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Victoire was too intent on finishing her explanation to notice.

“- where everything was perfect. He took me across the Irish Sea to meet his entire family, for Merlin’s sake! And I thought it _must_ be the right time, I felt ready. And so there we were, about to – _you know,”_ Teddy made an odd sort of sound from somewhere high in his throat which Victoire chose to ignore. “And I just couldn’t. Something was still telling me that it wasn’t the right time. Which is ridiculous, because I’m sure it absolutely was!”

Victoire finally looked across at Teddy, who was looking back at her with such a pained expression that she would have laughed in his face if she wasn’t one hundred percent sure she was offering him a very similar one in return.

“Vic,” he started, weakly. “If you want me to talk to Finnegan -,”

“No!” she stopped him in his tracks by reaching across the table and grasping his hand in hers. He hoped she wouldn’t notice how sweaty his palm had become. “Patrick and I are finished, for good this time, I think. That’s not why I need your help.”

“But I don’t see-,”

Victoire let go of his hand and sat back in her seat, pulling herself up to her full height and tried to act as if what she were about to say – what she was about to ask of her lifelong best friend – was entirely normal.

“I realised last weekend that it’s not about waiting for the right time or the right person. Surely, if it was – that would have been it! I’ve been telling myself all this romantic nonsense for years, when really, what on Earth am I waiting for? I just need to get it done, get it out of my system and then I can actually start to have proper adult relationships.”

Teddy swallowed, thickly. “Right, okay then. Go for it… I guess.”

Victoire rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s just it. I can’t just _go for it_ with any random bloke, can I? It needs to be someone I can trust, someone who understands what this is all about. And ideally,” she added, carefully, “someone who has a good deal of experience in the area, to make it actually enjoyable.” She paused what for seemed an insanely long moment. “Someone, for example, who may have recently even made the headlines for his sexual exploits.”

Her gaze dropped, not-so-subtly, to the frayed copy of _The Quibbler,_ still lying incriminatingly on the table-top between them. Teddy stared down at it in horror – at his own face, grinning and – _oh_ , _Godric help him_ – was he winking in that photo? Why was he always such a prat in front of the cameras.

“Vic,” he said, voice suddenly and unnaturally gruff, “I think you should stop talking. _Now._ ”

But she didn’t miss a beat. “Teddy Lupin, I need you to have sex with me,” she practically spat the words out at him, quickly adding, “As friends, obviously. And at your earliest convenience.”

Teddy stared at her, slack-jawed. His pulse had started thundering in his ears and his tongue felt twice the size it normally was and seemed stuck to the roof his mouth. For her part, Vic appeared to have the audacity to be watching his reaction as if she had just made the most innocent request in the world – the fiery blush that had crept beneath the neckline of her blouse and the fact that she was blinking rather too often were the only signs that she even knew what she had just said.

“Vic, you can’t be serious-,” he began to splutter.

“You don’t have to answer straight away!” she held up a visibly trembling hand. “Take your time, mull it over. Just think of it as a favour to a friend, that’s all.”

“Vic! You’ve honestly lost your gobstones,” Teddy’s vision was swimming with all the wrong sorts of images.

That seemed to flick some sort of switch in Victoire, who – with the last of her resolve waning and her cheeks threatening to self-combust – began snatching up her coat and bag (almost forgetting the sparkly blue mittens from Grandma Molly) and rose quickly from her seat.

“Like I said,” her voice only a few octaves higher than usual, she imagined, “give it some thought. You know where to find me when you decide.” Before turning on her heel to flee the scene.

Teddy jumped from his seat only a split second behind her, dashing back to chuck a handful of change into one of the coffee-stained saucers and almost colliding with a waitress and a trayful of hot chocolates on his way to catch up to her.

“Vic, stop! You can’t just ask-, _proposition_ even-,”

Teddy darted between the tables and reached out to grab her elbow just as she stepped out onto the blustery street, blonde hair whipped up around hot cheeks. But as soon as he followed her out of the safe confines of Bathilda’s Bakery, the small crowd of excitable Quidditch fans and beguiled witches that he’d long since forgotten about were around him in a second, swallowing him up in a sea of autograph books and handmade scarves. It was all he could do to shout after her, trying to keep his eyes on the back of her head in the crowd, until a camera flashed too close to his face and she was lost into the Friday afternoon throng of Diagon Alley shoppers.

Sweet Merlin, he cursed internally, raking a hand through his now alarmingly bright orange hair. He, Ted Lupin, was in an absolute world of trouble.     


	2. Chapter 2

“Lupin! Get your head out of your arse and into this game! What in Salazar’s name is the matter with you?!”

Teddy grimaced down at his coach, swiping the rain from his goggles and trying to yank his broom around against the wind. Thank Merlin this was only a training match, he cursed internally, because he was playing like absolute shite.

He’d yet to hit a single bludger on target that morning, had twice gotten in the way of his own team’s seeker as she was about to land on the snitch and had spent a good deal of the match so far simply staring at the blur that was Patrick Finnigan, who was currently running scoring drills at the other end of the pitch. With only two weeks before the opening game of the season this really wasn’t the time to start choking in practice but try as he might, Teddy couldn’t seem to focus on the task at hand.

In fact, this seemed to be becoming something of a concerning habit. Ever since last Friday (and his meeting with Victoire), Teddy had been walking around like a man under the _Imperious_ curse. He’d somehow managed to lose his wallet, favourite jumper and two of his reserve brooms (which he’d left somewhere in the training grounds never to be seen again). He’d missed a meeting with his agent on Monday to do a final once-over of his new contract, forgotten to get Ginny a birthday present on Tuesday and on Wednesday managed to royally piss-off James when he met him for a pint in _The Three Broomsticks_ by being - and he could quote - _“the most useless wingman in the entire sodding world”._

Even his grandmother, whom he saw every Thursday night for dinner and board game of her choice, had been so concerned by his out of character behaviour that she’d tried to let him win at exploding snap, to no avail.  His reflexes were totally shot at, something he was now painfully aware of as the blur of a bludger shot passed his left side, only for Teddy to swing out a second too late and accidentally catch one of his Chasers in the back of the head with his bat.  

“That’s it, Lupin! You’re done for the day! Hit the showers!”

Teddy swore loudly in protest but landed his broom and stomped towards the changing rooms. Merlin, he was going to _murder_ Victoire – if he ever plucked up the courage to see her again, that was. Oh, he was under absolutely no illusion why he was being such a useless prat out on the field today, not to mention all week. He hadn’t been able to get her – or her request – out of his head for more than a minute ever since she’d opened that pretty little mouth of hers and asked him to shag her.

_“As friends, obviously.”_

OBVIOUSLY. Because that makes the whole situation totally normal, he thought angrily, wrenching off his sweaty jersey and throwing it into his locker. What on Earth had she been thinking?

The truth was, it wasn’t totally unusual for Teddy to spend a large amount of his time thinking about Victoire. She was his best mate, so it was acceptable for her to occupy some of his thoughts, but there were also frequent moments – like when he would hear her laugh echoing from somewhere in the Burrow or when she would come round to his flat just to read and lay stretched out across his couch – that he would catch his thoughts roaming into forbidden territory and have to pull them (and himself) back from the edge.

He couldn’t remember exactly when it was that he first started thinking of her in _that_ way. It certainly hadn’t been a conscious decision, that was for sure. And he tried to do it as little as humanly possible because he wasn’t an idiot – he understood the repercussions of letting his mind run away with him all too well.

It might have started when she’d made him agree to take her as his date to a teammates party, back when he was still playing in the amateur leagues, and she’d worn this ridiculous little blue dress with white flowers which crept a little too high on her leg as she’d danced. Incidentally, that was the same night she’d first met Finnigan, he remembered ruefully.

Or, he conceded, it might have been even earlier than that, when the pair were still at Hogwarts and she’d started dating Zabini. Teddy had given her the cold shoulder for the best part of three weeks, even though he hadn’t been able to put his finger on quite why he was so cross with her. She’d eventually won him round with a packet-full of chocolate frogs and a note asking him if she’d done something to upset him. Of course, he’d told her that she hadn’t and they ate the sweets together in their usual corner of the library, hiding the wrappers from Madame Pince and laughing at the latest misdemeanours of her cousins.

Whatever his reasons, after that he’d started opting to share a tent with Fred and James rather than her on the annual Weasley-Potter camping trip. If she’d even noticed the change or been offended by it he’d never really asked, preferring to carry on as if nothing was any different. They were still best friends and nothing had changed. But maybe on some subconscious level it had, for him at least.

And now - Victoire herself, of all people – had officially opened the floodgates. Bringing up she and him and _sex_ in the same sentence. And suddenly he was struggling to keep all of his thoughts and his weird, confused feelings in check.

“Bloody woman,” he muttered to himself, slinging a towel over his shoulder as he headed for the showers.

He was just starting to feel his shoulder muscles loosen, his frustration ebbing under the hot stream of water as the rest of his teammates came barrelling into the changing rooms. There was the usual guffawing, the locker room insults about someone’s piss-poor play that morning, and then Teddy heard something that made his head swivel.

“You smashed it out there, today, Finnigan! Ten shots on goal in under ten minutes! I guess someone finally got their end away, ey?”

There was a smattering of hoots and hollers from the rest of the group before someone else asked: “Tell us what happened then, Paddy? Did she finally put out or what?”

Teddy froze where he stood, turquoise hair full of shampoo, and waited for what seemed like an eternity for his teammate’s response.

“’Course she bloody did,” came the Irishman’s answer, “No one can resist this forever!”

Another chorus of cheers and loud back-slapping erupted and before Teddy knew what he was doing he was out of the shower, across the changing room floor and had Patrick Finnigan up against the lockers, hands gripping onto his robes.

“Say that again, Finnigan,” he snarled. “Like you believe it.”

The other man’s eyes went wide at the sight of Teddy bearing over him – stark naked and dripping wet, golden eyes darkening ferociously as the tips of his hair began to turn a fiery red.

“I-, I don’t know what you mean, Ted,” he spluttered.

“Oh, I really think you do,” Teddy glared down his nose, pointedly. The rest of their teammates looked on in bewilderment. “Tell them what really happened, or I will.”

Finnigan seemed to grapple with this decision for a second too long. Teddy tightened his grip on his collar. “Fine! Fine! I didn’t sleep with Weasley! She turned me down, again.”

Teddy nodded sternly and allowed Patrick’s feet to drop to the floor. He was halfway back to the shower, apparently unabashed by his lack of clothing, when Finnigan decided to open his foolish mouth again.

“You know what, Lupin? You’re welcome to her!” he spat, angrily, yanking off his Quidditch gloves. “She’s bloody frigid anyway!”

It took Teddy less than a second to decide what to do next.

 

* * *

Victoire set down her copy of the next morning’s _Daily Prophet_ with a frown. She didn’t normally bother to buy a copy of her own – there was always one floating around the break room at work – but the headline on the sports pages had rather grabbed her attention.

‘ _Tornados’ Two Star Players Mysteriously Relegated to Bench for First Match of the Season’_

Beneath it were two photographs: one of Teddy looking sullen, slinging his kit bag over his shoulder and holding up an arm to block his face from the cameras. The other was of Patrick, her now ex-boyfriend, who looked as if he’d gone ten rounds against an angry hippogriff. He very clearly had a nasty looking black eye, a split lip and what looked like the remnants of a powerful Bat-Bogey Hex hanging out of the end of his nose.

Really, Victoire thought wryly, there was absolutely no mystery to be solved at all. There had quite clearly been a locker-room brawl and no coach in the world was going to allow in-fighting amongst his players. The exact reason for these two particular players to come to blows was the only real question and Victoire had more than a sneaking suspicion that she herself might be a part of the answer.

She quickly hid the paper under the desk as her boss popped his head round her office door.

“’Morning, Victoire. Where are we with the case review on the Albanian cauldron shipment?”

“Already on your desk, Uncle Percy,” she smiled, widely. “Same time for lunch today?”

“Absolutely! My turn to choose though. I don’t think my stomach can handle anymore of these trendy muggle hotspots you keep dragging me to,” Percy grimaced, an unsteady hand settling subconsciously on his stomach.

Victoire held up her hands and stifled a laugh, “No more sushi, I promise. See you at twelve!”

What had started out as a temporary job after graduation – and after that dream-shattering rejection letter from the St Mungo’s Healer’s programme – had actually turned out to be a rather perfect fit for Victoire. Her Uncle Percy, as a favour to her dad (and an example of nepotism at it’s finest, she was somewhat ashamed to admit), had suggested she filled in for his junior secretary whilst they took a few months maternity leave. Victoire, it seemed, had more of a flair for the actual case work than taking minutes and making coffee and it wasn’t long before her uncle had given her a trial run of her own case load.

She didn’t suppose that working for the Ministry Department for Trade Standards was really anyone’s lifelong dream (except maybe her Uncle Percy’s), but she was good at it and she genuinely enjoyed the day-to-day work.

Glancing down at the newspaper in her lap, she reached for her quill and inkwell but stopped short. She had already _almost_ sent Teddy a dozen owls this past week – sometimes not even managing to put quill to parchment, sometimes losing all courage and tossing the letter straight onto the fire. On one occasion she had actually gotten so far as to attach a note to the poor postal owl, which she then had to chase around her flat for the best part of an hour to stop it from delivering the bloody thing.

This was the longest they had ever gone without speaking as far as she could remember. The problem was she had absolutely no idea what to say. How do you follow up after _‘I need you to have sex with me’_?

_Sweet Helga_ , she groaned and pressed her forehead against the desk. What had she been thinking? If Teddy so much as spoke to her again, she’d be lucky. He must have thought she was a mad woman, or a desperate one, or both. Probably both, she conceded, feeling the colour rising to her cheeks for what must be the hundredth time this week. She’d been building up to that very conversation for what had felt like months, and as soon as the words had left her mouth she wanted to swallow them all back up again.

_Gods,_ the look on his face! It was such a mixture of emotion she hadn’t been able to tell what he was feeling. Shock, obviously, that was to be expected. Fear? Horror? Disgust at the thought of seeing her naked, perhaps?

She caught site of her reflection in the brass desk lamp and stuck her tongue out at herself, she really could be her own harshest critic. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew she was pretty – she had veela lineage for Merlin’s sake, not to mention the amount of times she’d been asked out on dates seemed a little higher than the average (or, at least, that’s what her other female friends told her). But that just made her current predicament seem even more ridiculous! Poor little Victoire with her knickers all in a twist.

And not that this was about keeping score – because it really, truly wasn’t – but she knew for a fact she was falling behind compared to her cousins. She was the oldest, she was meant to be the trailblazer, the one who got the very first bite at the cherry. She knew for a fact that Roxanne (the next closest to Vic in age and also her flatmate) enjoyed a very regular and acrobatic sex-life with her girlfriend owing to the lack of soundproofing between their adjacent bedroom walls. James and Fred – if you could stand to listen to half of their bullshit and bravado – would have her believe they took home a new woman almost every weekend (although James _swore_ he would give it all up for half a chance with the barmaid at The Three Broomsticks).

Even Rose, freshly graduated from school and almost six years Victoire’s junior, was currently shagging her way across Europe with her _‘good friend’_ Scorpius Malfoy. Those two weren’t fooling anyone when it came to their relationship - except maybe their respective fathers, who were either too stubborn or too stupid to notice that they’d been straight into each other’s pants the day they turned seventeen. 

It was exactly this line of thinking that had led her to proposition Teddy in the first place. Her brain liked logic – she had a problem and she needed a solution. Teddy was the obvious choice. She trusted him, she cared for him deeply and he knew her better than she knew herself. She couldn’t think of a better person to lose one’s overdue virginity to, on paper.

If she allowed herself to think about it for more than a moment – the idea of her and Teddy together in that way – well, that also did something a little funny to her insides and made her heart beat a little faster. She was quite sure that was probably just nervousness, though. After all, she was risking the Earth by putting her friendship with Teddy on the line here. Even so much as the thought of this ruining their special bond, destroying the _‘Best Friend Pact’_ of 2005, (written in green crayon on the back of a portkey timetable that Victoire still kept as a bookmark in her favourite edition of _Hogwarts: A History, Volume II_ ), was enough to break her heart.

She found herself reaching for her quill again – she could just check in on him, make sure that he was okay and that his hand didn’t hurt too much after it’s abrupt introduction to Finnigan’s face?

_No_. She let a long slow breath out through her nose and dropped her quill back into the inkwell with a small splash. She’d promised him time to think about what she’d asked of him. Besides, she didn’t want to give him the chance to simply gloss over it, pretend as if she’d never asked – no matter how much she felt like doing exactly that herself.

She’d be seeing him in person the very next day, anyway, she bargained with herself. The hordes were gathering to celebrate her Aunt Ginny’s birthday earlier in the week and she knew for a fact that Teddy’s life wouldn’t be worth living if he bailed on that woman’s party.

Victoire glanced at the morning’s newspaper and Teddy’s picture one last time before she sent it sailing into the rubbish bin with a flick of her wand. She just needed a distraction – and she happened to know that there was a shipment of sub-standard owl cages from Switzerland that had just come in, with her name all over them.


	3. Chapter 3

The front doorstep of number 12 Grimmauld Place had borne witness to a variety of unsavoury sights in its years – never more so than since Harry and Ginny had converted the property into a home away from home for the family to use whenever they were in the city. Highlights included (in no particular order): James and Fred vomiting in spectacular unison after an especially heavy night down at  _The Leaky Cauldron,_ Rose with her tongue down the throat of a rather handsy young Malfoy and, on one particularly fun occasion, Albus receiving a very well-aimed fist to the nose courtesy of his little sister, whose date with the Slytherin Quidditch team captain he'd just unceremoniously ruined by stalking the pair round Muggle London.

It was also the only property now big enough to house the ever expanding Weasley-Potter clan all at the same time which is why, on this particular evening, the doorstep was playing host to an unusually pale looking Ted Lupin – clutching a badly wrapped present under his arm and pulling at the over-starched collar of his dark blue dress shirt.

_Sweet Salazar,_ he cursed to himself, he  _really_ didn't want to be here. Normally he loved coming to Grimmauld Place as it meant a big gathering of almost all his favourite people. It meant a feast of Molly Weasley's unsurpassable cooking, maybe an over-enthusiastic game of pick-up Quidditch in the back garden and then tumblers of firewhiskey with Harry, Ron and George after the younger ones had gone up to bed.

But tonight, it could mean only one thing: a torturous evening trying to avoid his best friend and the girl who'd driven him to the verge of insanity all week with thoughts and mental images he really,  _really_ oughtn't to be having.

He'd considered a no-show – sending an owl to apologise to Ginny or maybe even getting his Gran to go in his place, tell everyone he was sick. But then he'd remembered the year after he'd graduated and tried to skip Ginny's birthday in favour of a weekend abroad with his teammates – the woman had actually booked herself a portkey directly into his hotel room in order to drag him back in time to watch her blow out her candles.

The memory coaxed a feeble grin out of him. The woman really was a little barmy about her birthday. Teddy had always assumed it had something to do with growing up the youngest of seven siblings, getting a day dedicated just to yourself must have been something of a rarity. Not that he could begrudge Ginny Potter anything in the world – second to his gran, the woman had practically raised him. He should probably give some credit there to Fleur Weasley too, after all he'd often spent whole summers at Shell Cottage hanging out with Vic, guzzling down sugary French pastries and running over sand-dunes to splash into the freezing cold sea.

He felt the, by now, familiar dropping sensation in his stomach at the thought of his best friend and grimaced again, shifting the package under his arm and debating whether it was too late to simply turn on his heel and run.

A soft pop a few feet behind made the decision for him and he turned, grey faced, to find himself staring at the very same young woman that had kept him from sleep all week. Victoire, still clutching her Uncle Percy's arm from their side-along apparition, was rummaging in her satchel and apparently as yet unaware of his rather startled presence.

"Teddy!" Percy Weasley beamed up at him from the pavement. "Lovely to see you! Just arrived too, have you?"

Victoire's head snapped up at the sound of his name, and the two stared at each other with wide eyes and white faces as Percy casually stepped up to the door and rang the bell.

"Really good to see you, Teddy," he continued, seemingly unconcerned by Teddy's rather limp handshake and obvious discomfort or the fact that Victoire had yet to move an inch from where he'd left her. "I read about that nasty business with the Finnigan lad. Bad luck about the opening match. Still, I'm sure you'll show them what they're missing out on when you get back on the pitch."

Teddy cleared his throat, finally breaking the stare-off he was currently engaged in and tried to remember how to behave normally in these situations. "Er thanks, Mr Weasley. Nice to see you, too. I er- I thought everyone was already here."

"Ah! My fault I'm afraid, we were running a little late at the office," Percy beamed, as if nothing gave him greater pleasure than running a little late at the office. "Poor Victoire had to get changed in the ladies loo!"

Without thinking, Teddy glanced back at her and instantly wished he hadn't. She was wearing that little blue dress, the one she'd worn the night he'd taken her to that stupid party – he could see the white flowers peeking out from beneath her raincoat, the pastel shade of blue practically glowing against her cream skin. She caught his eye and her cheeks flushed under his bewildered gaze.

Teddy's low and involuntarily groan was luckily masked at that moment by someone  _finally_ answering the front door and ushering them all inside. Teddy practically launched himself into the house, taking care not to get stuck next to Victoire in the deceivingly narrow hallway, and bumbled his way through the melee of red-heads and plus-ones into the kitchen.

"Excellent!" Ginny Potter was up on her feet and sucking him into an air-tight hug within seconds. "Now everyone's here, just in time for dinner! Ron," she called over her shoulder, "would you help Harry bring the extra chairs down from the attic-"

"No, no! Let me!" Teddy sprang towards the stairwell, more than happy to put a little more time and distance between himself and the young woman trailing in nervously behind him.

"Victoire!" Ginny beamed, planting heavy, happy kisses on each of her pink cheeks. "You look beautiful, love. Did you and Teddy come together?"

"NO!" Teddy whirled on the spot and shouted in horror. "We weren't together, I wasn't anywhere near her, in fact!"

Ginny and Victoire stared at him, oddly. Victoire's cheeks turning a discernible shade of red.

"Alright, Ted," Ginny laughed. "You two usually share a portkey when you come over, that's all."

Victoire cleared her throat. "He just means he got here before us – Uncle Percy and I, that is. You know how Teddy is, everything's a competition," she laughed, awkwardly.

Ginny raised a questioning eyebrow. "I see. Well, Victoire, whilst Teddy's helping Harry, why don't you bring the extra glasses through from the pantry." Adding, with just the hint of a knowing grin, "You can think of it as a race if you like, Ted. First one back wins."

By the time Teddy returned to the kitchen – a rather wobbly piano bench in tow – the magically extended table had been piled high with edible treats and almost everyone had already squeezed themselves into one of the assorted seats. Plonking his bench and himself down at the end of the table, he glanced up just as Victoire re-appeared at the pantry doorway.

"Think you'll have to squeeze in next to Teddy, Vic!" her dad called, unhelpfully, over the clatter of plates and forks.

Teddy swallowed, thickly. "Actually, I think there's probably more room down there between Malfoy and Rosie-," he was instantly gifted with two of the most poisonous glares he had ever received. "Or not, my mistake," he added, weakly.

Head down and pointedly not meeting his eye, Victoire approached cautiously and slid onto the rickety bench beside him. Teddy tried to move as far to the left (and away from her) as he was physically able without actually falling onto the floor – unfortunately for the rather flustered young man, this still allowed him to feel the warmth of her leg squeezed in beside his under the table, her thigh dangerously within touching distance and only the skirt of that bloody blue dress between him and her bare skin.

He made a muffled sound of protest at his own thought-train (desperately reminding himself that there were at least two qualified Legillimens at this table, one of whom being Victoire's father), and earned himself an odd side glance from the girl in question.

He simply scowled back at her, "What are you wearing that for?" he muttered under his breath.

Victoire blinked at him, only mildly affronted. "You look lovely too, Ted, thanks."

"You know what I mean," he muttered crossly, glancing furtively along the table. No one, it seemed, was paying them any undue attention. "You're trying to seduce me."

Victoire almost snorted into her pumpkin juice. "Yes, that's right, Lupin. Because there's nothing more arousing than sitting across from your grandparents at a family dinner."

Teddy looked over to where Molly Weasley Senior was fusing over a gravy spot on her husband's tie. He offered them a weak smile as they waved back merrily, before turning his stern glare back on Victoire.

"You're really going to pretend you didn't wear that dress tonight on purpose?"

She set her glass down firmly. "Teddy, I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. But congratulations on your recent employment with the fashion police. I can see you've taken to the role with great enthusiasm."

He offered her a withering eye-roll but felt the tips of his hair turn a little pink all the same. The two fell into an awkward, sullen silence for a minute as they set about loading their plates with the savoury offerings – taking extreme care not to reach for the same jug or spoon for risk of an accidental touch of hands, or worse.

"I saw Patrick," Victoire mumbled, quietly, passing him a bowlful of potatoes and not quite meeting his eye.

He frowned, caught off guard, "What? Why? I thought you two were over-,"

"I meant, in the newspaper," she added quickly.

Teddy's cheeks flushed. "Oh, right."

"Care to tell me what that was all about?" she finally looked at him properly, eyebrow arched and silvery-blue gaze scrutinising his. His hair threatened to turn a revealing shade of orange.

Teddy shrugged a little too casually and passed her back a plate of something green. "Just locker room tensions, you know how it is."

"I see," Victoire pursed her lips. "Giving your own teammate two black eyes and a broken nose is just another day out on the training pitch, I suppose."

Teddy ground his teeth together, his knee accidentally bumping hers under the table. "Exactly."

"And they say Quidditch is meant to be a non-contact sport," she muttered, airily, reaching past him to refill her drink, her long blonde tresses falling around her shoulders and filling his head with the scent of lemon verbena leaf from that stupid organic shampoo she always used.

Suddenly, Teddy was up on his feet, one hand on Victoire's elbow and yanking her up beside him. Everyone else's head turned at the sound of the bench scraping back across the floor, the clatter of cutlery falling silent and Teddy stared out at the sea of expectant faces.

"Sorry, er- we just need to-, attend to something in the hallway." Instinctively, he looked down at Victoire (his usual accomplice in these sorts of matters) for some sort of assistance. Tonight, however, all he got was a quirked eyebrow and an indignant stare in return. "My present for Ginny, it er-, it needs re-wrapping. Yep, Vic needs to help me re-wrap my present."

Ginny and Fleur exchanged an odd look further down the table until Albus, from around a mouthful of food, helpfully added: "S'true, Mum, I saw it. Looks like he tried to wrap up a live chizpurfle or something, bloody awful job."

"Albus!" the older women chastised at once.

"It's true!" Albus shrugged.

"You go ahead, Teddy, love," Ginny smiled. She seemed to be enjoying herself a little too much, even for her birthday.

He would worry about that later, Teddy thought, as he steered Victoire quickly towards the door, throwing Albus a light knock round the earhole for his trouble as they passed. No sooner had the door swung firmly shut behind them, then he rounded on her hotly. Victoire simply stared at him – all wide-eyed and pursed lips.

"Everything alright, Ted?" she offered.

He opened and closed his mouth, crossly. How she had the audacity to play innocent after she had been the one to land him in this mine-field of morals versus hormones. She nibbled slightly at her lower lip – the first sign to him of any underlying uncertainty. Teddy's brain supplied him with the unhelpful observation that she was wearing the faintest sheen of lipstick. It made her mouth look invitingly soft and full.

"Vic-," he started, squeezing his eyes shut, his voice unnaturally gruff.

"I take it you've been considering the little favour I asked you?"

" _Little favour_?!" his eyes shot open, furiously. _"_ Weasley, you're a mad woman-,"

"Please, just hear me out!" she held up her hands, pleadingly. "I know this seems a little of the blue for you, but I've had plenty of time to think about it and I can't think of a single reason why this isn't a good idea."

He continued to gawk at her. "I can think of about seventy off the cuff right now, if you'd like?!"

She crossed her arms, petulantly. "Go on then."

"How about the simple fact that it will be me and you,  _naked_ , in front of each other. Which is just so,  _so_ wrong."

Victoire simply rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. I've seen you naked plenty of times."

"What?" Teddy spluttered. "When?"

She flushed an unsubtle shade of pink. "Well, I mean, when we were little and we used to play in the sea by my house, and I'm fairly sure your gran made us have baths together at one point.  _And_ ," she added, sounding triumphant, "there was that time last year when I stayed at your flat and accidentally walked in on you in the shower!"

"This isn't anything like when we were kids, Vic." Teddy rubbed his face in frustration, choosing to selectively ignore her last example. He could remember the awkward breakfast that had followed with a startling clarity. "We're talking about you and me, naked in bed and  _touching_ …  _things_."

He couldn't help it – at his own suggestion, his gaze dropped inadvertently south to the obvious swell of her chest, rising and falling with each breath. His pulse quickened.

At that moment, from the other side of the kitchen door, came the sound of someone knocking their glass over, followed by a yelp that indicated its contents had landed directly into someone else's lap. Flinching at the interruption, Teddy grabbed hold of Victoire again and bundled her unceremoniously through the next nearest door, following closely behind. He fumbled around in the dark for a light switch, narrowly avoiding brushing against unseen bits of Victoire – which would  _not_ have helped the current situation – only to curse himself into oblivion when he finally landed on his target, to find he had thrown the pair of them into the world's smallest coat cupboard.

He could barely move an inch without bumping into her in some way – a fact brought sharply into focus when she squirmed to get away from the coat-hanger sticking into her back, bringing their torso's flush against one another.

They both froze, awkwardly. "Sorry," she muttered, trying to shuffle backwards and only causing a further clash of knees and elbows.

"Vic, just-, Vic, stop!" he hissed, grabbing both her shoulders to keep her in place. Their closeness and the occasional brush of her thigh against his were starting to send dangerous impulses south.

"Sorry," she muttered again, cheeks showing the faintest flush of pink.

Teddy squeezed his eyes shut and sucked a long breath in through his nose. "I need you to tell me that you were joking."

"What do you mean?" Victoire tried to look up at him only to bump her nose on Teddy's chin.

"I  _mean_ ," he gritted his teeth, "that I need you tell me that this was all just a big joke and you didn't mean what you said-, what you  _asked_ me to do, right?"

She frowned, eyebrows knitted together. "Teddy, I can't."

"Vic,  _please_ , you don't understand what this is doing-,"

"I can't, Teddy!" she stated, firmly, doing her best to square her shoulders back in the confined space. "Do you think I wanted to have to ask for your help with this? Honestly, I would love to be able to tell you that I'd shagged Finnigan –  _Merlin,_ I'd love to tell you I'd shagged my way around your entire team, but I haven't."

"Bloody right, you haven't," Teddy muttered, feeling awfully hot under the collar at such a thought.

"You're the only person I can ask, the only person I  _trust_ to help me with this," she looked up at him, imploringly.

Teddy stared down at her, any and all rebuttals dying in his throat.  _Sweet Salazar,_ he cursed internally, she really was gorgeous. The hot flush of her cheeks had brought out the line of Weasley freckles across her nose, her long, fair eyelashes sweeping down across silvery-blue eyes. It would be so easy to give in, he allowed himself the briefest of musings on the idea. So easy to bring his lips to hers, to let himself have just a taste of her and smudge that pretty lipstick. He could nudge her backward against the coat-rack, just press himself ever so lightly against her, feel her chest rise and fall beneath him. Plant feathery kisses along her jawline, make her writhe beneath him as his stubble grazed along the curve of her neck and slowly push that little blue dress down over her shoulder.

He licked his lips unconsciously. It really would be so  _so_ easy to give in.

Victoire, taking his momentary silence as a further refusal, huffed petulantly and kicked at one of his feet. That seemed to startle Teddy to his senses and he cleared his throat, his mouth suddenly rather dry.

"Vic," he started, somewhat shakily. "This is all just-, it's just too ridiculous."

At that, Victoire gave him a little shove which made him stumble over a stack of wellington boots and bump his head on the light fixture. "And just what is so ridiculous about it? I'm a fully grown woman with all the right  _bits_. It's not fair that I'm stuck here cherishing my unwanted virginity whilst you're out there shagging every next witch with a pulse!" she jabbed a finger between his ribs, repeatedly.

"Oi!" Teddy ground out, snatching up both her hands into his larger ones. "You know you really shouldn't believe everything you read in bloody  _Witch Weekly_."

"Not to mention, that you're  _supposed_ to be my best friend," she continued, glaring up at him and trying but failing to prise her arms free of his grasp so she could return to poking him. "You're meant to want to help me!"

"That's not fair and you know it," he snapped, distractedly. "And –  _Merlin's bollocks_  – will you please stop wriggling!" he pushed her arms back, pinning one either side of her in an attempt to overpower her, just like he had during playfights in their younger years.

"I'm not wriggling!" she pushed back against him in futile rage.

There was  _definitely_  wriggling, Teddy cursed, and that – coupled with his earlier train of thought – meant that his trousers were now feeling uncomfortably tight. He huffed down his nose at her, getting another headful of citrus shampoo and tried to take a moment to compose himself. The trouble was, the position they now found themselves in – Teddy holding her arms firmly overhead and against the cupboard wall – had only served to bring them physically even closer together. A second too late, Teddy realised that Victoire could probably feel all of him –  _all_ of him – flush against her, just as he could feel her beneath him.

He swallowed thickly, staring at a spot on the wall just above her head and tried not to focus on how fast her breathing had just become. He could feel it tickling his collar bone.

She shifted her weight slightly beneath him and Teddy squeezed his eyes shut, listening to his pulse thundering in his ears and tried to slowly count to ten. Then, with an amazing amount of inner strength that he really didn't know he had, he slowly and carefully extricated himself away from her. Victoire, thankfully, didn't move a muscle until he had stepped firmly back to the other side of the cupboard, his hands clenched by his side – just in case they had any funny ideas about reaching out to touch her again.

After what seemed like the longest moment of silence, Victoire spoke. "Your hair is purple," she said, softly. "That's my favourite colour."

Teddy took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "I know. Vic, I-,"

But before he could even formulate a coherent sentence, the door to their cupboard was thrown wide open, making them both jump and causing Teddy to bang his head on the hanging light bulb again. They squinted out into the light of the hallway, red-faced and blinking quickly, trying to make out the identity of their intruder.

"Why are you two hiding in the cupboard?" the clueless tones of the Potter's youngest son brought a sigh of relief from both parties.

"Get lost, Al," Teddy grunted.

Albus glanced back and forth between the two cupboard dwellers. "Mum sent me to look for you, everyone's finished dinner and she says she wants her nicely wrapped present."

"Yes, her present. Well, we were just looking for scissors," Victoire added, airily, nodding at Teddy. "You know, for the wrapping paper."

Albus frowned. "Scissors are in the kitchen. And you haven't got any wrapping paper with you."

"You're right, my goodness!" Victoire muttered, straightening out her dress and stepping past Albus out into the hallway. "You know, I can't imagine why everyone says you're the slow one in the family."

"Oi! Not true!" Albus whirled around after her. "Who says that?! Everyone knows James is the idiot! Oi, Vic! Wait!" he called, frantically, chasing after her down the corridor.

Behind them, Teddy raked a hand through dangerously mussed hair and let out a low groan. He was fairly sure his predicament had just gone from bad to worse – not to mention he was currently in no fit shape to return to the rest of the family. With little chance of a cold shower at the present time, he decided another five minutes of soul-searching in a dark cupboard was probably in order and so, with a heavy sigh – and before Victoire had chance to return and torture him some more – he swung the cupboard door shut on himself and switched off the light.


	4. Chapter 4

Victoire lay in bed, staring up thoughtfully at a crack in the ceiling plaster, and wondering how she got to such a point in her young adult life that she needed to beg Ted Remus Lupin for sex in a cupboard.

She kicked the duvet away from her legs with a huff. Grimmauld Place was stiflingly hot tonight. Too many bodies under one roof, she supposed.

As was often the case after these big gatherings, most of the family had opted to stay the night in one of the endless number of bedrooms on one of the endless number of floors. After all, it was never a good idea to try and apparate home under the influence of half a bottle of firewhiskey, and the Potter-Weasley family were always more than proficient when it came to toasting whatever happy occasion may have brought them all together.

Usually that would include Teddy and Victoire helping themselves to a bottle between them, playing some silly game that involved the loser knocking back large measures of the lethal stuff or slowly sipping at full glasses and putting the entire world to rights, together. But not tonight.

Teddy had barely said more than two words to her since he’d finally re-emerged from the cupboard and had seemed very keen on making sure he was at least ten foot away from her at all times, with at least three other members of her family between them. It had felt like a life-size game of wizard’s chess – whenever she’d made a move towards him, to speak to him, he’d ducked behind her brother, or her dad or Grandma Molly and launched into a conversation about quidditch, or work, or the best recipes for perfect scones.

Ordinarily, Victoire would have been furious at him for being such a prat, but tonight she could hardly try and take the high road when it was her fault they were in this predicament. This was only their third ever fight (if you could even call it that) – discounting their childhood squabbles over who got the first go on the toy broom or the biggest slice of cauldron cake, of course.

She could still vividly remember their first proper falling out, although to this day she wasn’t entirely sure what it had all been about. They’d both been at school and she’d just started dating Damian Zabini – Teddy had gone all sulky on her, stopped sitting with her at breakfast or meeting her between classes and generally taken it upon himself to be an arse for a full three weeks. Eventually she’d bribed him back with chocolate frogs and they’d carried on as if nothing had ever happened.

Victoire suspected that Teddy hadn’t even known they’d been in a fight, the _second_ time they fell out. It was during the annual family camping trip later that same year – Uncle Charlie had taken them to somewhere on the edge of Loch Lomond for a long weekend in summer. They’d all been bitten to death by midges, as she could recall, but that had been the least of her concerns when Teddy had announced that he would be sharing a tent with James and Fred, and not – as was tradition – with her, anymore. There’d been no explanation, no prior warning or discussion. Teddy had simply made a bee-line for the boys’ tent and left her to squeeze in beside Dominique and Lily and cry herself to sleep.

She never mentioned how upset she’d been and instead it had been her turn to give him the cold shoulder. Although, given that they were on school holidays and didn’t see each other every day, it didn’t seem to have the same impact, much to her chagrin. Eventually she’d gotten bored of being cross with him – more to the point, she’d missed him – and she’d floo-ed round to his gran’s house to hang out.

Months later, on reflection, she’d decided that maybe Teddy was just having a bad year. He’d been facing his Hogwarts graduation, after all, and hadn’t yet been scouted by the Quidditch leagues. It seemed most people tended to lose their heads a little when faced with the outside, adult world – herself included. 

And now here they were, in what was possibly becoming their third ever major disagreement. Except this time both parties definitely knew about it and it was definitely her fault. Because she’d begged Ted Remus Lupin for sex in a cupboard.

She let out something of a groan and squashed her face into her lumpy pillow, ignoring the curious stares of the two hags playing gobstones in the portrait above her bed.

Well, wasn’t this just the pinnacle of the spectacular mess she was making of her love life thus far, she thought. Actually – she wrinkled her nose in frustration – calling it a love life was probably putting too grand a title on it. It was more like a string of potential relationships that never really got off the ground, or varying lengths of time spent with different boys that all seemed to come to a rather abrupt end when she found herself unable to take her knickers off for them.

And she wanted to, _really._ Gods, did she want to! She wasn’t unfeeling, she wasn’t incapable of arousal. She enjoyed herself when she was with them, when they kissed and touched her. _Sweet Circe_ , she would be the one to initiate it half the time, only to pull herself away at the last moment, stumbling over some unseen hurdle, only to get labelled a cock-tease or frigid for her efforts.

And frigid she was most certainly _not._ Like any Ravenclaw worth her salt, when this problem had first reared its ugly head, she’d done her research. Having first read quite a few saucy novels from the shady aisle at the back of Flourish  & Blotts, she’d experimented by herself in the safety of her flat and found that, not only could she definitely have a mind-blowing orgasm if she set her mind to it, but that she was really rather good at getting herself there.

In fact, if losing one’s virginity was a one-player sport, she reckoned she’d probably be the world champion at it by now. But – alas – it was not. There was only so much she could achieve on her own, and that was why she needed Teddy.

And _really_ , she thought crossly, tossing and turning once more beneath the heavy duvet – if he could just stop being so scandalised by the idea for one moment, she was sure he would see the genius in her plan.

There was no one she trusted more than Ted Lupin, no one she cared about more than him, no one she knew better (or longer, for that matter). He really was the perfect candidate for the job. And for some reason, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on why, something in her gut was telling her that this was the answer – that _he_ was going to be the answer to her problem.

Cajoled by her own logic and realising there was no way she was getting to sleep any time soon, Victoire sat up and swung her legs out of bed.

Uncle Harry had insisted on Teddy also staying the night at Grimmauld Place after he’d knocked back several rounds of firewhiskey with her Uncle George (all the while steadfastly ignoring her, of course), and she knew which room he always took when he did – second floor, third on the left, the same one his mum used to use back in the time of Order meetings and the like.

If she went to his room, she reasoned, he’d be a captive audience – he’d _have_ to listen to her argument, once and for all. So, pulling a jumper over her thin pyjamas, and under the watchful gaze of the gobstone-playing hags, Victoire padded barefoot out into the corridor.

 

* * *

Teddy listened to the rain as it lashed against the window, trying to let the sounds of the raging autumnal storm block out his own unwanted thoughts.

His time spent alone in the dark cupboard had done nothing to quiet the new little voice that had taken up residence in his head – the one that was telling him what an idiot he was being by not giving in to Victoire’s demands. Nor had it erased the memory of how she’d felt beneath him, pressed against the cupboard wall and completely there for his taking. The smell of verbena leaf shampoo and the sweetness of pumpkin juice on her breath.

He let out something between a moan and growl and rubbed his tired eyes.

These were not the types of thought you were supposed to have about your best mate, he practically pleaded with himself. He’d had them before, he could at least admit that to himself now – every once in a while, something would happen to pull at the carefully constructed platonic image he held of her and it would send Teddy off into a spiral of dangerous thinking.

Like the first time she’d worn that stupid blue dress or whenever she started dating someone new. The times they would cook together in his flat and they’d have to squeeze around each other in his tiny galley kitchen, laughing and swearing at each other to get out of the way. And just like the times he would turn up at her office to surprise her with take-out from _Bathilda’s Bakery,_ and she’d look up from her unending stack of paperwork and flash him one of those ridiculously wide smiles.

Okay, so maybe it happened rather more _often_ than he’d still care to admit.

There were also those evenings when he’d go round to theirs to watch muggle football on the tellybox with Roxanne. Vic would sit with them reading her books and insist on wedging her feet under his legs to keep her toes from getting too cold. Sometimes he’d catch himself absentmindedly rubbing his thumb across her knee and wonder what on Earth he was doing, not that she ever seemed to mind.

He cursed internally. There was another thought there now, shouting at him from the darkest recesses of his mind, a sort of growing awareness that was making him feel incredibly uneasy the more it took shape.

Swinging his legs out of bed, Teddy began to pace the length of the bedroom, catching sight of his reflection in the small speckled mirror and noting that his hair had turned that same shade of deep violet as earlier. Victoire’s favourite colour, his brain unhelpfully supplied.

_Sweet Salazar,_ he thought angrily, what had the girl done to him now? He needed to find her and put a stop to this nonsense once and for all, before this new feeling – and he had a horrible suspicion he already knew what it was – had chance to properly realise itself in his head. Then he’d really be buggered.

Pulling on a pair of pyjama bottoms over his boxer shorts, he headed out into the hallway – he knew which room she always stayed in here (third floor, fourth on the right), and he strode soundlessly but purposefully towards the staircase – only to come crashing into someone halfway up the stairs in the darkness.

“Oomph!” came the muffled cry as he collided with the oncoming body – reflexively swinging out an arm to catch and steady whomever he had just caught off guard. He felt a soft hand on his shoulder as the other body righted themselves and then a whispered “ _Lumos.”_

He blinked once, twice, into the new huddle of light and found himself staring up into the same face he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about all evening.

“Teddy-,” “Vic,” they both started in hushed surprise.

“Are you alright?” he muttered, quickly checking her over for any sign of missing limb or other injury.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” she swatted his fussing hands away. “Listen, I _need_ to talk to you. Properly, this time.”

“I need to talk to you, too!” he hissed. “This whole thing is driving me-,”

“Me first!” she quickly clamped a hand over his mouth, throwing him an apologetic smile as he frowned, his protests muffled beneath her fingers. “Look, I know you think my idea is terrible… and maybe it is, I don’t know. But if you’d just let me explain why it’s so important to me then I really think you might come around to my way of seeing it. I mean, it’s _us,_ Teddy. We can do anything together, share anything. Why can’t we share this? Just the once?”

Victoire was rambling then – off on one of her logical Ravenclaw-brain analyses by the looks of things. Teddy could always tell by the way her brow furrowed, bringing out one tiny line in her forehead, and her gaze sort of clouded over whilst she concentrated.

Unfortunately for Victoire and her undoubtedly well-prepared argument, Teddy’s mind had gone completely blank almost from the moment she first started speaking. This was, in part, a well-practiced survival technique for when he recognised one of her infamous lectures coming his way. He’d been on the receiving end of more than his fair share in their time and had learnt it was safer for his life and his sanity just to let her go on, uninterrupted, until she ran out of steam.

But tonight, it was also because he could smell that bloody verbena leaf again, could almost taste it on the skin that was still clamped down over his mouth. _Merlin_ , the girl must practically bathe in the stuff, he thought crossly, resisting the sudden urge to let his tongue trace along the lines of her palm.

Losing all focus entirely, he took her in by the shimmering light of her wand. She was wearing one of her dad’s old Christmas jumpers, the big, golden letter B standing out against the itchy maroon wool. Her hair was up in a lopsided plait that had come almost completely unravelled, silvery wisps framing her face, and her skin looked almost unreal, ethereal even, in their small halo of light.

He watched the curve of her mouth as she made her impassioned speech, soft pink lips uttering heated whispers, and the flicker in her eyes which were intently fixed on his – imploring, urging him to give in, to agree with her demands. He inhaled that delicious citrus scent again, head spinning with a wave of unnamed feeling, and struggled to recall why he was even arguing with her in the first place. Rather belatedly, he realised his hand was still clutching hold of her waist.

“And I promise I wouldn’t make it awkward, afterwards I mean, we could both just agree to never -,”

Vic’s eyes flew wide, words dying in her throat as Teddy suddenly gripped her wrist firmly and prised her hand away. She looked up at him uncertainly – although as she was still standing on the step above him, they were almost level in height for once – and warily took in his clenched jaw, his darkened amber eyes, the deep violet colour of his hair.

“Teddy, are you alright-,”

“Vic,” he ground out, “I need you to stop talking.”

She blinked. “But, Teddy, I’m trying to-,”

“Stop.” His other hand came up to lightly touch her jaw, lidded golden eyes staring at her hungrily. “Please.”

Victoire’s lips made a soft and silent ‘oh’ as the moment of realisation washed over her. “… Are you… are you going to kiss me?”

Teddy swallowed thickly, not taking his eyes off her mouth. “I.. I think so, yeah.”

Victoire suddenly felt very aware of all the points at which their bodies were already touching. She could feel the arm at her waist, holding her in place firmly but gently, and the rough pads of his fingers as they coasted their way up from the curve of her jaw to her cheek. She felt frozen in place, unable to decide what to do or how she should hold herself. It was almost that same mild panic as being kissed for the very first time – all her limbs felt awkward and in the way. Should she turn her head? Which _direction_ should she turn her head? What if they both went left and it was all bumped foreheads and clashed teeth?

And then she found that she couldn’t really think about anything anymore as Teddy’s nose brushed against hers – the briefest flash of uncertainty in his brow as he stared down at her from under heavy lashes.

In truth, she wasn’t entirely sure who closed the final millimetre of distance between them. The hand on her waist still held her firmly, giving her a tether, a point to root herself to as Teddy’s lips met hers. They were both hesitant at first, just the lightest of touches – testing these unchartered waters together. Victoire’s eyes fluttered shut, her lips parting ever so slightly as she tentatively brushed her fingers through the soft hair at the nape of Teddy’s neck.

At the first taste of her tongue, Teddy groaned with a longing he didn’t fully understand. Somehow, she tasted like he’d always imagined she would, without ever realising that he had imagined such a thing at all. Mint from her toothpaste, the warmth of the firewhiskey and something else that he couldn’t put a name to but that he knew instantly was just her.

The hand at her waist had now wandered to the small of her back, allowing him to pull her towards him as they both deepened the kiss. Victoire made a soft sighing sound from somewhere in her throat that made Teddy’s pulse skip. He loved the feel of her mouth against his, that devious tongue that was driving him crazy with each languid, teasing stroke. He thought it might just be the best thing in the whole entire world and couldn’t believe how long it had taken him to discover it.  

He bit down lightly on her bottom lip and it was as if a timer finally went off in both of them. Victoire moaned loudly, completely forgetting herself or their current location, and pressed herself firmly against him, hands curling into his hair. Teddy was more than happy to reciprocate, letting her feel exactly what she was doing to him as their hips met and earning another little gasp from Victoire. Teddy grinned wolfishly against her mouth.

The hand on her back slid deftly under her jumper and the thin pyjama slip beneath, cool fingertips brushing against scorching skin before trailing up her side, ghosting lightly over her ribcage and coming tantalisingly close to the swell of her breast. Victoire felt herself pouting at the hesitation, not daring to disentangle her tongue from Teddy’s, and rolled her hips in encouragement.

The movement almost made Teddy’s brain (and other parts) explode right there and then. In fact, he was so lost in her and all that she was making him feel, that he barely even registered the slam of a door a few floors below or the loud and merry voices now disrupting the silence and echoing upwards towards them.

Luckily, Victoire had just about enough rational thought left in her to raise a stilling hand to Teddy’s chest and, more than a little reluctantly, he pulled away.  He quickly assessed her through half-lidded eyes and allowed himself a smug grin at the sight of her – lips red and swollen, hair mussed and jumper askew – before turning his attention to the oncoming voices.

There was no mistaking those dulcet tones: James and Fred had returned from the local muggle pub, more than three sheets to the wind each by the sounds of it and singing a garbled version of the old Hogwarts school song. Half swaying, half-staggering up the first flight of stairs below them.

Teddy grinned, brushing a hand through his own lopsided hair and was about to suggest a quick relocation to one of their bedrooms when he clocked Victoire’s expression. She was staring at him with an emotion he honestly couldn’t put a name to – a mixture of confusion, surprise and maybe even _fear_ , or a close relation at least.

“Vic-?” he whispered, questioningly, reaching for her hand in the dark only for her to snatch her fingers away. “What’s the matter?”

She shook her head, mouth slightly ajar. “I.. I thought that-,” she started, hesitantly. She suddenly seemed to be finding it very difficult to look him in the eye. “I thought that with _you_ it would be…”

“Would be what?” Teddy muttered, one ear on the heavy oncoming footsteps, a hard lump beginning to form in his throat.

Victoire shook her head again and nervously tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’m sorry, Teddy, I made a mistake. I… I should never have asked you to… I’m so sorry.”

Without so much as another glance, Victoire spun on her heel, fleeing back up the stairs and away from Teddy who – slack-jawed and speechless – watched her go, both embarrassed and confused.

He briefly thought about chasing after her – he knew where she was headed, after all – and checking she was alright, perhaps demand a bit more of an explanation. But his pride was too great for that and besides, he was pretty sure he’d understood the message: her little experiment had failed already. It seemed it was no different with him than the rest of her would-be lovers. Exactly why that discovery made his head swim and his chest hurt so much he wasn’t completely sure of yet.             

“Teddy!” A jovial cheer from the pair of party-goers – who by some miracle had made it up a flight of stairs intact – tore his gaze away from the now empty spot in which Victoire had been standing.

“What you still doing up?” Fred slurred, cheerfully. James hiccupped loudly beside him.

Teddy swallowed thickly and cleared his throat. “You two look like shite,” he muttered, choosing to ignore their question and appraising the carefree duo. James had what looked like vomit down the front of his jacket and Fred seemed to be standing at rather a precarious angle. “Get to bed, both of you, before you wake the whole sodding house.”

“That’s the spirit, Teddy!” they yelled after him as he pushed between the pair and stalked back towards his room. “Merry Christmas to you, too!”

“It’s October, you gits!” Teddy snarled, offering them one last dark scowl before slamming the door behind him.

James and Fred stared after him in amusement, still propping each other up and swaying unsteadily in the middle of the hallway.

“Well!” Fred breathed, heavily. “What’s got into his knickers, d’you think?”

James hiccuped again, he was beginning to look a rather disconcerting shade of green. “Nothing, mate. I think that’s the problem.”


End file.
